


took all of the lonely days and made them sing

by heybernia



Series: oh i'll love you tomorrow so don't go away [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, if the universe makes things line up this well you need to not let it down right, you don't need to read the first one in order to read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heybernia/pseuds/heybernia
Summary: “You did your best, I’m so proud of you,” Phil whispers. Jèr can hear the I love you so much that goes unsaid and hopes Phil can hear Jèr’s response from how he tightens his arm around him.Jèr’s holding his stick so tightly he’s afraid it will snap.(Or, Jèr's season ends on his birthday. Phil's team is the one who ends it.)





	took all of the lonely days and made them sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aimerai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimerai/gifts).



> no warnings i can think of but please feel free to tell me. 
> 
> the title is from hugging you by tom rosenthal.
> 
> thanks to ash and bee for reading it over and leaving comments, i <3 you both

The goal horn won’t stop blaring. It’s on an endless loop inside Jèr’s head.

It’s not loud enough to drown out the crowd, or the players celebrating against the glass, they’re all jumping and yelling and wooing, wrapping each other up in hugs and giving head pat after head pat. There are smiles all around, catching the arena lights, and one in particularly is looking simply radiant.

Jèr forces himself to look away and stares at his own skates instead. He can hear some of his teammates skating around, a few come over and tap Jèr with their sticks on his shins and say things that he can’t make out.

Jèr doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s used to having to be strong, for his teammates, for his siblings, and for everyone watching him. Having a letter on his jersey meant being trusted to deal with other people’s emotions and that was easier than dealing with his own. It always has been.

Now, he’s feeling too much. He knows how he wants to feel, and there’s some of that flaring throughout his chest, happiness and pride at what his boyfriend has done, at him getting through to the next round, but that can’t mask how much Jèr wanted to win, how much losing leaves a bitter, rusty taste in his mouth and down his throat.

Especially because he’s the one who gave the puck away that lead to the OT winner.

Someone taps him on the small of his back. “C’mon bud, handshake time,” Zane says. The black and yellow of his pads fills the top of Jèr’s vision. “The quicker we get through this, the quicker we can go out for drinks and buy you birthday drinks until you can’t stand.”

Jèr pulls himself properly up then, not because of the promise of drinks to ease the pain, but because he could hear the handshake lines starting to form. The Phantom players stop celebrating eventually and get themselves into a version of line, and Jèr’s made some progress, he thinks, he’s staring at their skates now instead of his own.

When the lines start to move, Jèr pointedly keeps focused on whoever’s hand he is shaking, forces any sort of words out of his mouth, English that still gets caught on his tongue, and doesn’t look ahead to whoever is coming next.

Aube-Kubel holds his hand for a few seconds longer than everyone else. “Thanks for the series,” he says, basically the same as everyone else, except for the French coming out of his mouth.

Jèr manages to get out a thanks and no more, the good luck lost somewhere he can’t find. Aube-Kubel’s face doesn’t change, he doesn’t judge, just give Jèr one last testing squeeze before he skates onto the next.

The hands after that become more of a blur. Until Jèr catches the number five on the sleeve coming up next. There’s finishing the current handshake, and then the number five is reaching for him, and Jèr can’t stop himself from dragging his eyes up past the collar and to the eyes already looking at him. 

“Hey,” Phil says, quiet, weighed down, and Jèr immediately feels his eyes start to burn. Phil must be able to tell somehow because he skips the handshake and pulls Jèr into a hug, wraps his arm around Jèr’s shoulders, and Jèr lets himself close his eyes and hitch a breath.

“You did your best, I’m so proud of you,” Phil whispers. Jèr can hear the _I love you so much_ that goes unsaid and hopes Phil can hear Jèr’s response from how he tightens his arm around him. Jèr’s holding his stick so tightly he’s afraid it will snap.

“Can I see you after?” Phil asks, pulling back a little.

Jèr wants to see Phil always, he wants to feel Phil’s warmth, he wants Phil to keep on holding him forever. But right now, Jèr is hurting despite how much he doesn’t want to be. He didn’t want to lose, he didn’t want his season to be over and he doesn’t want to be feeling this way, far away from how he wants to feel and how he knows he should be feeling for Phil. Phil deserves better than Jèr dragging him down tonight, and so Jèr has to be the one to let go, just for the night.

“You should be with your team,” Jèr says, and unhooks himself from Phil. Suddenly, he’s aware of the gap between him and the player in front of him that’s appeared while him and Phil were in their own little bubble.

Phil loses his smile a little, and Jèr can’t stop the sudden splash of guilt. “Okay. Talk to you later,” Phil says, code for _please text me when you get back to the hotel please_.

“Yeah, later, good luck for the series,” Jèr says, holding in place for as long as he can, trying to take in as much of Phil as he can.

They brush past each other as they move in opposite directions. Jèr’s eyes are still burning and no one else seems to notice.

*

Jèr is only able to breathe again when he makes it back to the hotel room. Everywhere else, there was just too many people. Even on the bus, the city was closing in outside the windows, the dots of light were getting closer and it was all closing in on him. He leaned against the headrest and replayed Phil’s voice in his head, repeating the things he said during the game and earlier that day. That makes the journey easier.

The buzz of the air con is the first thing that greets Jèr when he unlocks the hotel room door. He dumps his stuff far enough away from the door that he doesn’t feel bad about immediately face planting on his bed.

Senyshen comes in a minute or so after him, and Jèr probably should have waited for him but Jèr knows he’s going to be in and out anyway so he couldn’t really see the point.

“Lauz, you coming?” Senyshen asks from the foot of Jèr’s bed, looking for something by the sound of it. 

“No,” Jèr replies.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Zach asks.

“No,” Jèr says into the sheets. They smell like a mix of generic laundry powder and that too fresh spray that seems to be covering something else.

Zach nudges Jèr’s shoes. Jèr doesn’t kick Zach, he only taps him really. “What about all those birthday drinks,” Zach says. “You can’t let those go to waste. Probably can’t let the brownie points you’d get buying people drinks go to waste either, it’s better to start building them now so you can catch up to yours truly.” That’s half Zach admitting he’s a suck up, and half him trying to be funny. It doesn’t make a whole.

Jèr could go out. Emphasis on could. Honestly, Jèr is too tired now, all the games and injuries and workouts of the longer season have caught up to him, and he’s done speaking in English where the words still come an inch too slow and are always one step away from where he wants them to be.

“I don’t care, you can have them all,” Jèr says, turning his head just enough so it’s not muffled.

“Oh, sweet, thanks man,” Zach says, shuffling around some more. “If you need takeout or something, or if you change your mind and want those drinks, text me.” Jèr makes an acknowledging noise.

“Catch ya later, Lauz.” With that, Senyshen’s gone, the sound of the door shutting hiding Jèr’s soft goodbye.

Jèr’s phone goes off and he reaches for it, turns on his side a little to look at it and see the message from Zach at the top.

ottawa senys: _im crashing somewhere else so ill see u tmrw_

Well, okay then. Jèr hadn’t asked Zach for that and he spent yesterday not in their hotel room so Zach should have known that he could stay but then, Zach doesn’t ask questions about the him and Phil thing. He never has.

He never asked questions about it at the Team Canada summer training camp when he walked in on them, he just made the occasional comment here and there like when Jèr asked him to cover for him when he stayed the night with Phil for Phil’s birthday, Jèr pretends that Zach never said anything about Jèr helping Phil to _blow_ his candles. He even greeted Phil casually, like it was completely normal for him to be eating a small breakfast with them and to be playing footsie with Jèr under the table when the Phantoms were in Providence for a back-to-back.

That felt like a dream looking back on it, a dream that meant Jèr got to wake up to and fall asleep with Phil again, a dream just like the one Jèr had yesterday and got to experience half of today before he ruined it.

Phil didn’t hold it against Jèr when they beat the Phantoms on his birthday but that’s probably because Phil’s a better person than him. Always has been, always will be, Phil’s made of something good and warm and it radiates through him both inside and out and Jèr sometimes, most of the time, can’t believe he gets to be up close to it--to him.

Speaking of Phil, Jèr has other notifications, various things from Instagram and group chats, and there’s condolences all throughout his messages, and then right on the top, there’s a contact named filled with emojis, a ghost, a wolf, a kissy face and a line of different heart emojis who’s sent him a couple messages, all filled with heart emojis and kisses and I love yous, some abbreviated and some not.

Jèr sends back a simple message, _im at the hotel have fun i love you <3 <3 <3_ before forcing himself up and undressing for bed, dumping the clothes on the chair and not on the floor which has to be something to be proud of now. He keeps his boxers on and pulls on the first t-shirt out of his suitcase, the Rouyn logo stressed and creased across the front.

Jèr curls up under the sheets and checks his phone, takes one look at the instant response he got before he puts it on the bedside table, flicks off the light and pulls the covers tighter over him. He’s never been one for counting sheep but vaguely imagining Phil saying goodnight to him and being beside him has about the same effect once the ache has settled.

*

There’s not been enough time for Jèr to dream by the time he wakes up to someone knocking. He blinks a few times, squints into the darkness, as the knocking stops for a couple of seconds and then starts up again, a little louder each time. Jèr gets up to get them to stop before the whole floor comes out and kills them both and mostly avoids hitting the corner of the wall.

Zach must have forgotten his key or lost it in a bet again, so Jèr doesn’t bother turning the lights on, he just fumbles with the door handle while he knuckles his eye, pulling the door open on a yawn.

Words are still beyond Jèr mentally and they stay that way when he’s finished yawning.

“Hi, Jèr,” Phil says, smiling so wide, looking so beautiful in his plain t-shirt with the gold chain around his neck that Jèr taps his chest to get everything going again.

Jèr grabs Phil by the hand and pulls him inside, locks the door and turns on the ceiling light with one hand because Phil’s not letting go of the one Jèr gave to him. With better lighting, Jèr can see the flush across Phil’s cheeks, how he’s swaying a little, and up close because of how Phil pulls Jèr into him, how he smells sweet like those cocktails and alcopops he has when he wants to treat himself.

“What are you doing here?” Jèr asks, wrapping his arms around Phil’s back automatically, the stretched material soft under his fingers. There’s a funny twist in his stomach at hearing Phil’s laugh and feeling it reverb between their chests.

“I wanted to see you, mon beau,” Phil says, and Jèr can hear it now too, the words flowing together closer than they normally do.

“But you had already seen me today,” Jèr says, unable to help himself.

Phil actually huffs into Jèr’s ear and just hugs him tighter. “I wanted to see you on your birthday,” Phil says.

“You had already done that too,” Jèr says, content to have the life squeezed out of him even if he doesn’t deserve it.

“Yeah but you weren’t sad then,” Phil says, suddenly quieter. They stand there hugging for another minute or two, Jèr focusing on the pulse under his mouth, until Phil starts to move them towards the bed. Jèr lets himself be moved because it’s Phil, and he’ll go wherever Phil wants him.

Jèr manages to get himself untangled so he can lie on top of the untidy sheets. It takes Phil a moment to kick off his shoes before he joins Jèr, though he wastes no time in twining his legs through Jèr’s before his head is even properly settled on the pillow.

They’re close enough to be breathing the same air. Phil’s hand is brushing against Jèr’s, his fingertips warm.

“Hey,” Phil says, tongue flicking out to lick his lips, eyes dropping down to Jèr’s mouth.

“Hey,” Jèr says back. He knows exactly where this is going and Jèr’s not going to stop it. Part of him wants it, another part needs it, needs the warmth and the intimacy and the support that Jèr was depriving himself of. Needs Phil right now.

Jèr shifts forward just enough so he can touch Phil’s waiting mouth, first pressing his lips right on the corner so he can hear the hum Phil makes before he slides along and tastes it for himself. The kisses are short, almost lazy, without any real desire, Jèr’s insides are more being melted then they are set alight.

“I’m sorry,” Phil mumbles against his lips and Jèr sighs.

“You’re not,” Jèr tells him. “You shouldn’t be, more like.”

Phil sticks out his lower lip, pouts at Jèr essentially. “I am though,” Phil says. “I didn’t want you to lose on your birthday. You shouldn’t be sad today.”

“Good thing it’s not my birthday anymore then, right,” Jèr replies, trying to untuck Phil’s shirt so he can stroke across Phil’s skin.

“Stop that,” Phil says, taking the appropriate response to be to cuddle some more, pushing Jèr onto his back so Phil can settle on top of him, still fully dressed.

Never mind that it’s near the end of the season, Phil is as solid as ever, a large weight on Jèr’s chest that’s keeping him pressed down into the bed.

“Won’t your teammates be missing you?” Jèr asks because he can’t let himself just have this without being difficult apparently.

“Probably not,” Phil says, letting out a breath across Jèr’s collarbone. “Sammy and Nic were asking when I was leaving.”

Jèr laughs a little. “That was nice of them,” he says. “They probably didn’t want to keep on buying you drinks and food.”

“Zach said you were sad,” Phil says once Jèr’s done, completely changing the subject and making Jèr’s hand go still from where it was pulling at Phil’s longer curls. “Not your brother Zach, your teammate Zach,” he clears up.

“So that’s how you get my room number then,” Jèr says, starting to move through Phil’s curls again.

“Yeah,” Phil says, more of a hum than a word. “Like I knew you were angry at me and I’m sorry I came when you said you didn’t want to see me, but I didn’t want you to be sad either and there was nothing else I could think to do and, like, you not being sad is more important than what you think of me.”

Jèr’s hand is frozen again. “Uh, why would I be angry at you?” Jèr is honestly so confused.

“Because you lost. It’s okay, mon beau,” Phil says, placating, stroking down Jèr’s side.

Jèr pushes at Phil’s shoulder who takes the hint and rolls of Jèr without any argument -- that by itself is making Jèr feel too many things -- because he can’t have this conversation into the side of Phil’s head. He needs to be looking into Phil’s eyes for this because Phil needs to know the truth.

Jèr sits up, turns to face Phil who’s blinking at him and tilting his head a little, so adorable and so beautiful with his cheekbones and eyes that Jèr’s finding it a little hard to breath. He reaches over to take Phil’s warm, always warm hand and starts to trace across his thumb.

“I wasn’t angry with you,” Jèr starts. “I swear I wasn’t, I don’t know how I could be.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, seemingly aware Jèr has more to say.

“I was proud of you for winning,” Jèr says, thinking about how to say this all somewhat right. “Again, I’m not just saying that, I swear I was-- I am still, you’ve been playing so well, you’ve beaten your injuries and now you’re into the second round.”

“I believe you, Jèr,” Phil says, as calm and kind as ever.

“I know you do now, but like, you didn’t before.” Jèr’s forcing himself to look at Phil no matter how much he wants to hide. “You shouldn’t have thought anything different then me being so fucking proud of you and so I’m sorry.”

“You’re more than forgiven,” Phil says, leaning in to press a kiss on Jèr’s cheek.

“I love you and I’m the proudest of you, I’ll let your mum have it back another time, maybe,” Jèr tells Phil. He’s still not finished but Phil’s laugh is as much a reason to take a break as anything else.

Phil’s thumb is rubbing circles under Jèr’s collar while Phil is busy smiling against Jèr’s mouth.

Jèr asks, “What are you smiling at?”

“Your shirt,” Phil says. Jèr looks down at where Phil’s hand is tracing down, and then around to the logo and gets it then. In his defence, he sorts of forgets what husky stuff was originally his and which was Phil’s. That’s not a lie, it’s just not necessarily the truth here.

“It’s a comfy shirt,” Jèr says, smirking. They do this more often now, talking instead of kissing, they talk everyday but this is better than all of that.

“I know,” Phil says, smiling in return and pressing it into Jèr’s jaw.

“I bet it would look good on you,” Jèr says, “Everything does though.”

Phil’s smiling to the point where his eyes are crinkling, all delighted. “Would always look better on you,” he says, running his hand up Jèr’s chest, past Jèr’s collar and cupping his jaw to give him another kiss.

Jèr kisses Phil back, lets his hands wander around Phil’s shoulders and chest, and is just about to consider climbing into Phil’s lap when something raises quickly out of his chest, and makes Jèr have to break the kiss so he can yawn, long and drawn out.

Phil giggles. “Tired, babe?”

Jèr can feel a blush across his cheeks. “No,” Jèr tries to say but it comes out as another yawn, the end of season exhaustion hitting him again.

“That’s a yes then,” Phil says. He gives Jèr another peck on the lips. “We can pick this up in the morning when we’ve both gotten some rest.”

“I’m not tired,” Jèr argues. He’s just starting to lie back on the bed because it’s comfy and warm and has Phil in it and that’s the perfect combination for any bed.

“Time for sleep, mon beau,” Phil says, giving up all pretense of playing fair with his gentle smiles and pushing Jèr’s hair off his forehead.

“After some more kisses,” Jèr says, “It’s my birthday. Please?” Jèr adds on at the end

“Of course, mon beau,” Phil says, humouring him and they end up kissing for a while longer, slowly, until Jèr finds opening his eyes to be too difficult even when they’re not kissing.

“You’ve used up all of your kisses now, you need to rest to reset them,” Phil says eventually.

“Okay,” Jèr concedes. “But you need to go take your clothes off now.”

Jèr’s not looking mostly because of that whole struggling to keep his eyes open thing but he can hear Phil get up, go to the bathroom and turn off the light before he crawls back into bed beside Jèr sans clothes, making sure the sheet covers both of them. He wraps himself around Jèr, and Jèr lifts his head so Phil can fit his arm underneath it.

It’s like Jèr’s at home now, like everything has settled and nothing can go wrong from here on out. Jèr feels safe more than anything else, he feels safe enough to say things he couldn’t in the light.

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Jèr murmurs, hoping that Phil’s steady breaths would mean he’s asleep but that’s immediately proved wrong when he moves his head up and shuffles closer.

“I thought we were done saying sorry,” he says into Jèr’s neck.

“I know,” Jèr says.

Phil’s breaths are hot and short across Jèr’s nape. “What are you sorry for?” Phil asks.

“For not saying yes to seeing you even though I wanted to,” Jèr says. “I was being-- I was too angry at myself for not winning and for not being good enough that I thought I’d just end up bringing you down. Like I wasn’t feeling how I should have been and how a boyfriend you deserved would have been so I didn’t deserve to see you for the night for that.”

There’s no clock in the room, not one that ticks anyway, but that what Jèr hears anyway, the seconds dragging on inside his skull

“Mon beau,” Phil says, words heavy. “You never ever bring me down, okay? You’re my boyfriend, I love you, and days spent with you are always made better.”

Jèr’s listening, making sure to let every word sink in.

Phil carries on, “I felt sort of the same I think, like I should have been only happy because we won the series but I was mostly sad for you and wanting to be with you, but that’s how I feel all of the time. It’s okay to not the feel the way you think you should, you feel how you feel and you can’t control it sometimes--like a wild puck but you do your best and you might end up hitting the back of the net.”

“Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying,” Jèr says, already feeling lighter and like the tension deep inside has finally started to disappeared. “Did you really have to with the puck metaphor though?

“Yeah, it’s what made the most sense,” Phil says, a little defensive about it.

“So, what you were saying is that sometimes you’re going to miss your shots even if you take them and that’s okay,” Jèr says.

Phil says, “Yeah, basically.”

“Okay, I think I like that better than the other one already. We’ve just got a couple of decades before it catches on. “

Phil doesn’t answer Jèr back, not with words, instead he gives Jèr a kiss on his neck, and Jèr replies with a squeeze of Phil’s hand.

*

Jèr gets back from walking Phil, a mildly hungover Phil dressed in Jèr’s Providence hoodie and in a pair of Jèr’s boxers after what happened to his own this morning--the bed and the shower were both excellent--and finds Senyshen back on his bed, shoving stuff back into his bag.

“Hey, where have you been?” Senyshen asks as soon as Jèr through the door.

“Nowhere,” Jèr says, slipping back into bed to catch another half an hour until he has to get up.

“Nowhere, Nowhere, I’m pretty sure I watched a shitty movie called Nowhere Pennsylvania. It wasn’t really bad enough to be entertainingly shitty but it was certainly there.”

Zach continues to talk about this movie and what could be described loosely as special effects but Jèr ignores him so he can do more important things like message Phil, so he can receive all of those hearts and affection and he can return them back as best he can, all with a permanent smile on his face, all because of his love.

**Author's Note:**

> untagged mentions: zane mcintrye, nicolas aube-kubel, zachary senyshen, zach lauzon technically, samuel morin
> 
> thank you for reading i hope you enjoyed it <3
> 
> there actually is a flim called nowhere, pa i've never seen it because i don't watch anything but it didn't look very good from imdb.
> 
> i'm on twitter @attababehisch i spend my time crying about jer lauzon <3


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